


Be Not Afraid (of Sudden Fear)

by comma separated list (yasmean)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Werewolf Lore, Derogatory Language, Elves, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mages, Medical, Multi, No Spoilers, Nymphs & Dryads, Oracles, Polyamory, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vampires, Werewolves, a bunch of supernaturals gather at princeton plainsboro teaching hospital to save lives, and oh yeah because house is there, no prior knowledge necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28191954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasmean/pseuds/comma%20separated%20list
Summary: He can’t live for eternity loving and losing any more. He can’t love, he can’t live, so he stops trying.Christopher Taub becomes a vampire in the 15th century and decides to dedicate his (long) life to studying medicine. He and his colleagues are drawn to one Gregory House, a renowned elven healer who has studied the human condition for millennia. Together they search for answers: to medicine and to life itself.
Relationships: Allison Cameron/Robert Chase, Eric Foreman/Chris Taub, Eric Foreman/Remy "Thirteen" Hadley, Greg House/James Wilson, Lawrence Kutner/Chris Taub, Lisa Cuddy/Remy "Thirteen" Hadley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Be Not Afraid (of Sudden Fear)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhhhhi welcome to the au that has not stopped rattling around in my head for a week now please enjoy!  
> this is gonna be a ride so buckle up   
> slow build but its worth it (i hope) (please give it a shot) (i have not written fanfic in years so we are going to see how this goes)

The morning sun was bright, too bright, rays of overwhelming light beating down on the town below. It was a small village of no more than 300 people, each struggling to survive in the heat of it all. It hadn’t rained in over a month now at the peak of the sowing season and families across the town were terrified. No rain meant crops withering before their roots could fix in the arid soil; no rain meant blistering seeds and produce over-ripening on the vine. The stench of rot permeated the air, rotting carcasses of farm animals expired in the fields surrounded by rotting crops on farms whose owners rotted in their decaying houses. The stifling heat made poor the town, but made rich the coroner who carted the bodies by the load. There was little to be done by the town’s doctor, Christopher, who had neither balm nor remedy for that infamous scourge of hunger. He’d had his supplies raided earlier in the week, the few herbs he’d gathered stolen with little care to their edibility. He was not surprised in the least by the man who had stolen them when he finally received the house call, and there was nothing to be done as he succumbed to the poison.

The river barely trickled and Christopher tried to advise the townsfolk to be careful of drinking directly from it. But the heat made them all irrational too, made the madness flare worse than the plague of still water could. Christopher was visiting home to home, speaking the same few sentences again and again and yet he was also visiting in the night, by the light of a fire, consoling families as they watched their loved ones literally waste away. He was disgusted, but more than anything he was frustrated to watch them in the fading light, the pallor of their skin pale as it would be by the break of day once the ether of their souls had eked out and left only a cold shell. They would call for him and ignore what he said, and call again once there was nothing to be done. He hated it, not because he found them idiotic (though they were) but because he could no longer help them.

When he retired to his home for the night, he was always greeted by the warmth of his family. Even in the still of the evening, after the sun had set, there was still a permeating light from within his home. His wife was fastidious about keeping the fire going once the sun had set on the province. As Christopher crossed the entryway, the smell of roast lamb greeted him. He found his wife around the fire, stirring the stew she had tended to for the past hour.

‘Good evening Maria,’ he said, coming behind her to join her at the hearth. He placed a chaste kiss on her neck, his arms encircling her waist. 

‘Good evening Christopher,’ she replied, turning to face him. Her fair face was exaggerated in the fire’s light, the shadows along her cheekbones emphasized. She was beauty. ‘How are you?’

She had learned not to ask how his day was, because it was the same as it always was. There was sickness, and death, and very little he could do about any of it. There was nothing to talk about, just the horror of what he witnessed, and he hated to bring the miasma of death into their happy home. So they settled for a happy medium, where she wanted to know how he was not what he’d done, where he was more than willing to fall into her arms and hold her until he could fade into sleep and let the memories be sorted away. Out of sight out of mind.

‘Mmm,’ he exhaled with a hum, nuzzling against her neck. The scent of her was a calming presence, a constant in his life. She was his anchor. ‘I feel okay. I missed you.’

She giggled at that, kissing him before returning to the stew. ‘I am always here.’ And she was, she was always at their home or close to it, never so far away that he could not find her. She was tethered to him, a thread of life keeping him sane and stable in a world so full of uncertainty it left him dizzy. She was so warm, and he felt her heartbeat as if it were her own, their two hearts beating in tandem.

He withdrew from her with one more kiss on her cheek, going over to the pram where their son slept. He had just turned 5 and became more confident each year. He was unlike his parents in that he was overly friendly and adventurous. Prior to the drought, when the town felt like a town, David would spend his days running through the lush fields with his friends. He was a popular kid, no shortage of friends willing to chase and be chased. David was exuberant and eager in everything he did, and he saw the world as one endless adventure. The liveliness he held always brought a spark of pride to Christopher, to know that he could give his son a carefree life. But the days of living without terror had begun to fade; the months of heat and haze of fear clung to all of the townspeople, even the children. David slept soundly on his cot, and Christopher gently brushed his hair behind his ear.

Maria served them both a bowl, and they sat to eat. Christopher gingerly tore a chunk from the loaf of bread, and used it to soak up some of the hearty broth. The flavour of his wife’s stew was incredible, and he made quick work of his portion. Maria watched on with a smile, happy to see that her cooking was to pleasing to her husband’s tastes. They sat in content silence, the crackling of the fire all they needed. Within the walls of this house was a haven, a warm sanctuary from the harsh world beyond the door.

Maria collected their dishes while Christopher prepared the stew for storage. The snapping of the wood accompanied their calm movements. This was what they did best, domestic bliss, a contentment in the presence of the other. Maria gathered the blanket at David’s feet and covered him in it while Christopher watched on, the love in his heart swelling. 

In the soft light of the embers, Maria joined him by their bed and entwined her hand in his. Christopher brought their enjoined hands to his mouth, kissing her soft skin. Even in the faint light, her brown eyes twinkled. ‘I love you,’ he said softly, entranced by her beauty.

‘I love you too,’ said as breathlessly as when she first said it, like she had realised it again in that instance. The love she had for him was a steady rhythm, a cadence that carried his life from one day to the next night and he was more thankful to her than he could ever put into words. She was the breath in his lungs, a cleansing reprieve from the sick fog that shrouded their town. 

She led him to their bed and he settled beside her, pulling her close against him. The scent of ash clung to her skin and hair, and the ardor of her body warmed him more than the crackling fire. His hand rest softly at her waist, their fingers intertwined. When they were like this, so close they could be one, it seemed as if there was little else to the world. With her by his side and in his arms Christopher knew he could prevail. She gave him strength, but more than anything she gave him purpose. There was nothing more to life than to love, and Christopher was eternally grateful for the chance to love her and to love their son.

He drifted into sleep, and the fire continued to burn.


End file.
